


Your Smile Could Light Up New York City After Dark

by auroreanrave



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, high-ranking frat boy in one of Westeros U's fraternities, finds the love of his life at a keg party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Smile Could Light Up New York City After Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly little something I wrote as part of a bigger fic, which I might or might not expand into. Title comes from the GRL song 'Ugly Heart'.

The party is in full swing by the time Jon makes his way from the second floor balcony to the adjoining staircase and peers down into the heart of the action, right where the impromptu dancefloor has been set up inside the house's foyer.

People are grinding on each other, the lights Grenn borrowed from the AV department casting a neon hue across people at random, lighting one girl's attempt to stick her tongue as far down her girlfriend's throat as possible in an unbecoming shade of fuschia. Jon hopes they doesn't decide to use one of the rooms upstairs; they're left unlocked so the other fraternity members can use them or head to bed when they want, but they've had a real problem with finding couples using the rooms for other purposes. Pyp had to use a bucket of cold water on a Sigma Pi lughead and his tiny-waisted girlfriend a couple of semesters ago, and Jon's brother Robb has told him enough horror stories over late-night pizza and beer of finding sexual contraceptive paraphenalia in his bed the night after a Kappa Theta party.

Still, things seem to be going well - there's no vomit that Jon can see, or perhaps worse smell, there are no fights breaking out, and short of a sudden beer or vodka shortage or someone believing that another muscle-bound meathead is making eyes at his significant other. He's hopeful. Sort of.

"It's looking good, right?" Robb is at Jon's elbow before Jon can really register him.

"No people puking over each other yet, which is always good. I mean, I can't speak for the others, but not spending early Saturday morning scrubbing vomit out of carpets and linen is always a good thing."

Robb nods agreeably, taking a hearty sip from his bright red cup. He's wider in the shoulder than Jon is, all lean muscle from playing football in the quad every lunchtime with some of his friends when he's not studying for his criminal law degree, but Jon is taller than him so he can ruffle Robb's curly hair with some ease. Which he does.

"How are the drinks supplies?"

"We're about halfway through the kegs, we still have about two fifths of our bottles of beer and liquors, and unless some of those girls from Phi Delta decide to gate crash, we've got more than enough of that fucking awful peach vodka." Jon grins. The peach vodka is legendary in Kappa Theta; no one has ever willingly drunk it and it's since become a tradition to make pledges drink three shots of it in lieu of actual hazing which had been unanimously discontinued almost five years ago.

"Go and have some fun. I'll take over - besides I think a lot of them are lightweights tonight and'll be heading home soon." Robb offers and Jon nods, squeezing Robb's shoulder for a moment and descending the staircase, eyes half upon the floors below and half upon the staircase. Jon has to navigate his way through the remains of several plastic red cups, one bright yellow sparkly phone which Jon scoops up to put in the safe until the next morning, and what appears to be a deflated giraffe float for the pool.

The ground floor is more - if possibly - cluttered with every available surface containing blue and red plastic cups, the odd cigarette end or scrap of joint paper, and to Jon's never-ending shame, articles of clothing. The drunk guy on the portable DJ booth (once again, courtesy of the AV department; Pyp has already made plans to send them new state-of-the-art handycams for their future schedule of performance coverage as a thank you) is blasting out remixes of Martin Solveig and Zedd and Madeon, having long eschewed American producers for a more international flavour (according to the DJ himself), and Jon is barely able to hear himself think when he enters the kitchen.

The counters are a mess and Jon immediately begins to clear up the empty cups a little, and is in the middle of pouring two half-bottles of vodka into one large bottle and wondering whether or not he can sneak away early to his room with his soundproof headphones and a lock on his door and get some sleep, when someone jostles into his back.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm just trying to get some water for a friend of mine." Jon turns, already to indicate the stack of chilled bottles of water that have been woefully neglected so far over the course of the evening, and he stops dead because the guy behind him is so ridiculously attractive that Jon's brain instantly short-circuits.

The guy is as tall as Jon is, with a large frame and a soft belly underneath a plain, layered tee shirt and cargo pants that appear to be stained with the remnants of a fruity, alcoholic cocktail. His hair is streaked with sweat and his cheeks are tinged pink and Jon wants nothing more than to jump this guy's bones or propose marriage or crawl away into a corner.

"Sure. We've got, uh, plenty of water." Jon indicates the bottles and the guy smiles, leaning over the counter to grab a couple. He cracks one open and takes a big gulp, Jon making a focused effort not to notice the sounds he's making. "So, uh, you new? To campus? I don't think I've seen you around here."

The boy smiles, finishes his drink. "No, I'm not. New, I mean. It's just the first time I've been to a party like this, particularly a Kappa Theta one."

Jon bristles a little. "What's wrong with Kappa Theta?"

"Nothing. They have a reputation of being nice guys, it's just... that their parties tend to go a little wild. My friends insisted I come tonight." The guy indicates over Jon's shoulder, and he turns, seeing a group of people clustered around the edge of the pool, talking and laughing. Several are girls, along with one guy Jon thinks he's seen on the quad playing football alongside Robb. He'll have to interrogate his brother later for details on the muscular, handsome guy in the group.

"We do try and make sure everyone has a good time." Jon sticks out his hand, amiable and smiling warmly. "Jon Snow, proud Kappa Theta."

The guy smiles back, takes the hand, and shakes it. "Sam Tarly. So what's your major?"

"Sociology, with a minor in History. You?"

"English Lit, with a minor in Psychology. Interesting, but a little bit dull." Sam smiles, before peeling away from the kitchen counter. "Anyway, nice to meet you, Jon Snow."

"You're not leaving already, are you?" Jon doesn''t want to sound whiny, but he really likes this guy and he wants to spend more time with him. Outside of the inclusive cocoon of the party, he might never see him again - Westeros U is a massive campus with thousands of students Jon has never come in contact with.

"Sorry, my friends and I are all really tired and Margaery isn't feeling too good. She's the one the water's for." Sam points out a girl in the group - classically beautiful, long brown hair swept over one shoulder, a cerulean dress and heels in one hand, utterly drunk to the point of recklessness. "We're gonna make sure she gets into bed okay."

"Yeah, of course. That's good of you."

"You'd do the same for your brothers. Part of the whole creed of becoming a Kappa Theta frat member." Sam's tone is a little incredulous.

Jon raises his eyebrows. "Why don't you come hang out here sometime then? See if I can't change your mind about Kappa Theta?"

Sam laughs, not unkindly, and grins as he walks backwards, away from the kitchen counter and towards the backyard and his friends. "Maybe. Night, Jon Snow."

He leaves, cutting a path through partygoers on the wrong side of inebriated, and Jon watches as Sam returns with the water bottles, talking to his friends. The girl Sam called Margaery is given one of them and sips it with encouragement. Moments later, the group are heading around the side of the house, one guy with his arm wrapped around Sam's shoulder, and then they're gone.

Jon grips the edge of the tiled counter to stop himself chasing after Sam, to give him his cell phone number or his email, Sam's maybe boyfriend be damned. He sighs heavily, the pleasant little rush fading into a gloomy melancholia as Jon sweeps a handful of napkins into the trash.

"You okay?" Jon looks up to see Grenn, worse for wear but still in his right mind, more or less, a bottle of cheap lemonade-flavoured vodka in one fist, his shirt in the other. His chest is wet, as if he's been swimming - nothing would surprise Jon at this moment - and Jon hopes he isn't dripping onto the floor because some idiot breaking their leg on a slippery surface would be the cherry on this evening's cake.

"Yes, I'm fine." Jon says, dropping a towel to mop up the puddle Grenn is making, and begins making plans to escape upstairs where he can put on his headphones and lock his door and close his eyes and pretend that Sam's big eyes or his strong hands or the way his belly looked under his shirt aren't making his cock hard or keeping him awake. At all.


End file.
